The Lovesick Confessional Diaries

(M for Mature; 18+)

Poems

As Long As

Stories

Him and her; Met at a Rave

Just Friends

Eyes Open, Mouth Shut (M)

Quotes

Jenny Slate; Little Weirds

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An Excerpt from My Journal

Sapphic Love, Male Attention

The party has burned itself out, leaving only the faint echoes of laughter and the occasional clatter of an abandoned cup rolling across the floor. The air is thick with the scent of stale beer and something sugary—spilled punch or the lingering ghost of perfume. Everyone else has either passed out or stumbled home, but somehow, Sam and I are still here.

I stretch across the couch, legs lazily sprawled, my body warm and heavy with alcohol. The last sip of my drink swirls at the bottom of my cup as I tip it back and sigh. “We did it,” I murmur, my voice slow and syrupy. “Outlasted everyone. We’re kind of a big deal.”

Sam, slouched beside me, shoots me a grin—messy curls, half-lidded eyes, hoodie slipping off his shoulder like he’s long since given up trying to fix it. He looks good like this, undone, comfortable. “You know it,” he says, voice rough with exhaustion and something else, something lower. “We should probably get a prize or something.”

I turn my head, the couch suddenly feeling much smaller. “What do we win?”

He taps his fingers against his knee, pretending to think. “Bragging rights. Maybe a trophy made out of beer cans?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Lame.” I nudge his leg with my foot, just enough to make him notice. “I was hoping for something better.”

His smirk doesn’t fade. If anything, it deepens. “Like what?”

I trace a slow circle on the rim of my cup, my fingers feather-light. “I don’t know… maybe a kiss on the cheek.” I let my lashes dip, voice soft, teasing. “Or maybe someone telling me I’m pretty.”

His quiet laugh sends something hot curling through my stomach, but when I look up, his gaze has sharpened, dark and steady. It makes my breath catch.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice slower now, more deliberate. “You’re always pretty.”

A shiver runs down my spine, even in the warmth of the room. His knee is still pressed against mine, solid, grounding. The tension between us thickens, humming like a slow-burning fuse.

I tilt my head, letting my lips part just slightly. “Oh?” I ask, a teasing lilt in my voice. “Flirting with me now, are we?”

Sam doesn’t move away, but something about him shifts—his grin softer, less playful, more intent. He licks his lips absently, gaze flicking down to my mouth for just a second too long.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, his voice like a promise. “You gonna stop me?”

I should say something sharp, something clever, something that won’t let this moment stretch and deepen into something I can’t laugh off tomorrow. But I don’t.

I just look at him, heat pooling low in my stomach, the air between us crackling.

His breath is warm, his presence magnetic, pulling me in without a single touch. If I lean in just a little bit more, if I dare to close the space.

“Maybe I don’t want to,” I whisper.

His lips part slightly, like I’ve knocked the air out of him. His fingers curl against the fabric of his hoodie, like he’s steadying himself.

“You sure about that?” His voice is rough, quieter now, like he already knows the answer.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. The room fades around us—the mess, the music, the scattered remains of the night. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does.

I let my tongue dart out, just barely wetting my lips. His eyes track the movement, dark and focused, like he’s memorizing every second of this.

“Guess there’s only one way to find out,” I murmur.

Sam doesn’t wait.

His lips find mine, slow and sure, heat and hunger wrapped in a lazy, intoxicating rhythm. He tastes like alcohol and something sweet, something entirely him. His fingers brush against my thigh, barely there, like he’s testing the waters, like he wants to make me crave more.

I melt into it, my fingers gripping the edge of his hoodie, pulling him closer, chasing the warmth spilling between us.

Sam deepens the kiss, his hand sliding to the side of my face, fingers skimming along my jaw with a touch so light it sends shivers racing down my spine. His lips are slow but sure, coaxing mine apart like he has all the time in the world, like he’s savoring every second of this.

I press closer, the warmth between us making my skin tingle. His hoodie is soft beneath my fingers as I grip it tighter, pulling him toward me, needing him closer, needing more. He exhales against my mouth, a quiet sound that sends a delicious thrill through me.

His other hand drifts down, fingertips tracing the bare skin of my thigh where my dress has ridden up, the heat of his touch making my breath hitch. My heart pounds so loud I swear he can hear it, but I don’t care. The tension between us has been simmering all night, maybe longer, and now it’s unraveling, spilling over in the way his hands explore me, in the way his lips press just a little harder, a little hungrier.

I shift, swinging a leg over his lap without thinking, settling onto him as his hands instinctively find my waist. His grip tightens, just enough to make me gasp, his fingers pressing into my skin like he’s anchoring himself, like he doesn’t want to stop.

His lips leave mine only to trail lower, skimming along my jaw, down to the curve of my neck. I tilt my head back, letting out a slow breath as he presses a kiss just beneath my ear, his teeth grazing my skin before he soothes the spot with his tongue.

“You taste so good,” he murmurs against my neck, his voice rough, low, wrecked.

I let out a soft, breathy laugh, my fingers threading into his hair, giving a playful tug that makes him groan. “Drunk off cheap liquor and bad decisions?”

He chuckles against my skin, his hands sliding beneath the hem of my dress, fingertips tracing lazy patterns against my thighs. “Nah,” he says, lifting his head just enough to meet my gaze, his lips curling into something dangerously smug. “Just drunk off you.”

A heat coils deep in my stomach at his words, at the way his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, like he wants to devour me.

I roll my hips against him, testing, teasing, and the sound he makes—half a groan, half my name—sends a jolt of satisfaction through me.

His grip tightens on my hips, his breath coming out uneven. “Y/N,” he murmurs, almost like a warning, but there’s no hesitation in the way he pulls me even closer, no uncertainty in the way he kisses me again—harder this time, needier.

I grab the front of his hoodie and tug, urging him closer, but it’s not enough. The fabric is soft beneath my fingers, but I want skin. I need to feel him—no layers, no barriers.

“Take this off,” I whisper against his lips, breathless, fingers already curling under the hem of his hoodie.

His smirk is lazy, wicked, but there’s something dark in his eyes as he leans back just enough to yank it over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. His t-shirt rides up with it, exposing a sliver of toned stomach before he pulls that off too, leaving his skin bare to me.

I let out a slow breath, dragging my fingers down his chest, feeling the warmth of him beneath my palms. His muscles tense under my touch, his breath hitching as I scrape my nails lightly over his abs.

“Your turn,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. His hands find the straps of my dress, slipping them down my shoulders, his fingertips feather-light against my skin.

A shiver runs through me, anticipation curling deep in my stomach as the fabric slides lower. The dress pools around my waist, leaving me bare from the chest up, my skin prickling under the heat of his gaze.

Sam exhales sharply, his eyes dark and hungry as they roam over me. “Fuck,” he mutters, his voice almost reverent. His hands trail up my sides, slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, like he’s making sure I feel every second of it.

Then his lips are on me again, but this time, he doesn’t stop at my mouth. He trails kisses down my throat, his hands sliding lower, his body pressing against mine in a way that makes it impossible to think about anything else.

I let my head fall back, a breathy sigh slipping from my lips. “God, Sam…”

He groans softly, his hands gripping my waist as he pulls me tighter against him, like he needs more, like he can’t get enough.

Sam’s mouth moves lower, his lips dragging across my collarbone, his breath hot against my skin. His hands, strong and sure, slide down my waist, fingers teasing along the edge of my dress where it still clings to my hips. Every touch sends shivers racing through me, every kiss leaves heat pooling deep in my stomach.

I let out a shaky breath as he leans back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark, heavy with desire. His fingers toy with the hem of my dress, waiting, giving me a chance to stop this—but stopping is the last thing on my mind.

I reach for him, my fingers curling into his belt loops as I tug him closer. “You think too much,” I murmur, pressing my lips to his jaw, feeling the way his pulse jumps beneath my touch. “Just shut up and touch me.”

He exhales sharply, something between a laugh and a groan, before his hands slide beneath my dress, palms warm as they grip my hips. In one smooth motion, he lifts me, shifting me until my back is pressed against the couch cushions and he’s hovering over me, his body flush against mine.

The heat between us is unbearable, intoxicating. My fingers skim up his back, nails digging in just enough to make him shudder, to make him curse under his breath before he dips his head, lips brushing against my shoulder, my collarbone, lower.

His hands slip to my thighs, thumbs rubbing slow, lazy circles into my skin as he pushes my dress higher. My breath catches as he leans in, his lips ghosting just above mine.

“Still want me to shut up?” he murmurs, his voice low, teasing.

I don’t bother answering. Instead, I close the space between us, crashing my lips against his, pouring every ounce of want, of heat, of need into the kiss. He responds instantly, his grip tightening, his body pressing harder against mine, the feeling of his bare skin on mine sending a fresh wave of desire flooding through me.

I arch against him, my dress sliding further up my body until it’s bunched around my waist. He makes a low sound in his throat, something between approval and desperation, and then his hands are on me again, fingertips tracing the edges of my underwear, teasing, testing.

My own hands move just as eagerly, fumbling with the buckle of his belt, the button of his jeans, anything to get him as bare as I am. His breath hitches as I brush against him, his control slipping for just a second before he growls, his lips capturing mine in another searing kiss.

He pulls back just enough to tug my dress over my head, tossing it somewhere behind us. His eyes rake over me, hungry, possessive.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he breathes, his voice rough, almost reverent.

I smile, trailing a finger down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tense beneath my touch. “Okay, maybe you can talk a little bit," I smile at him. He bites his bottom lip, humming as his eyes scan my face.

"Take this off," I slide my finger down to his jeans,

hooking it into the waistband just enough to make him suck in a breath. His eyes darken, the playfulness from before melting into something heavier, something charged.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice rough as he watches me, his hands resting on my thighs like he’s steadying himself.

I smirk, tracing slow, lazy circles just above the button of his jeans. “You scared?”

His lips curve into a grin, but there’s something wild beneath it, something barely restrained. “Not even a little.”

Without breaking eye contact, he shifts, reaching down to pull off his belt, the sound of metal clicking making my stomach clench in anticipation. He moves slowly, deliberately, dragging out the moment like he wants me to feel every second of it.

I press a kiss to his jaw, my lips lingering as I whisper, “Then stop teasing.”

His breath catches, and in the next moment, his jeans and underwear are gone, tossed carelessly to the floor. My hands skate over the bare skin of his hips, tracing every inch of muscle, feeling the way he tenses under my touch. He’s warm, solid, and when I look up, his gaze is locked on mine, dark and hungry.

"Your turn," he murmurs, his voice thick with heat, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear, teasing, testing.

His fingers toy with the thin fabric of my underwear, dragging the waistband down an inch, then letting it snap back against my skin with a devilish smirk. A sharp gasp slips from my lips, and I narrow my eyes at him, but there’s no real bite behind it—not when my body is practically begging for his touch.

“Tease,” I murmur, my breath coming faster.

His grin deepens. “You love it.”

I don’t get the chance to argue because his fingers slide lower, tracing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs with featherlight strokes, never quite touching where I need him most. Every deliberate movement sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between my legs, my body reacting to him before I can even think.

I shift beneath him, pressing my hips up, searching for more friction, but he simply chuckles, his fingers retreating completely. I whimper in protest, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails dragging along his skin, desperate to bring him back down to me.

“Patience,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my hipbone, his lips hot against my skin.

“Screw patience,” I gasp as he kisses lower, his breath sending a fresh shiver through me.

He groans, hands sliding up my thighs, parting them wider as he positions himself between them. “You’re so fucking needy,” he teases, his voice thick, dripping with amusement, but there’s an edge to it—like he’s barely keeping himself together.

He slides my underwear down my thighs, past my knees. I shift, letting him slip them off completely. Then open my legs for him once again.

I reach for him, trying to tug him closer, but he pins my hips down with a firm grip, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

“Relax, baby,” he murmurs, his lips skimming my stomach, his breath warm and torturous. “Let me take my time with you.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the words never come—because in the next second, his tongue flicks out, tracing a slow path along my inner thigh, and my entire body jolts at the sensation.

A strangled moan escapes me, my back arching off the couch, but Sam holds me down effortlessly, his fingers digging into my hips as he kisses, licks, nips his way higher, getting impossibly close without giving me what I need.

I’m trembling now, my body pulsing with need, and he knows it.

“Sam,” I beg, my voice wrecked, my fingers tangling in his curls, tugging, urging.

He groans at the sensation, his grip tightening. “God, I love hearing you like this,” he mutters, his breath hot against me.

His tongue darts out again, this time so close that I nearly sob at the contact.

“Please,” I gasp, my nails digging into his scalp.

That’s all it takes.

He finally gives in, pressing his mouth against me, and the pleasure is instant, overwhelming. My head falls back, a soft cry ripping from my throat as he works me open with slow, devastating strokes of his tongue, his hands keeping my thighs parted, holding me exactly where he wants me.

He groans against me, the vibrations sending shockwaves through my body. “You taste so fucking good,” he mumbles, his voice muffled, hungry.

My entire body is on fire, my legs shaking, my fingers tangled in his hair as he devours me, drinking in every sound I make, every movement, every desperate arch of my hips.

And just when I think I can’t take anymore, he slips a finger inside me, curling just right, and I nearly come undone right then and there.

“Sam,” I whimper, my breath ragged, my body teetering on the edge.

He lifts his head just enough to meet my gaze, his lips glistening, his eyes burning into mine. “Not yet,” he murmurs, his fingers working me open, his tongue replacing them as he pushes me closer, dragging me along the edge but never letting me fall.

I whine in frustration, hips bucking, desperate for release. “Please,” I gasp, my body trembling under his touch.

He smirks against my skin. "You beg like a perfect little slut." His words send a shiver down my spine, my breath catching as he moves back up my body, kissing his way up my stomach, my ribs, his hands following the path his lips leave behind.

His lips meet mine, warm and wet with my juices. The kiss is slow, deliberate—full of heat and hunger—but underneath it, something softer simmers. His hand cradles my jaw, thumb brushing over my cheekbone like I’m something precious, not just desired.

When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark, but there's something else in them too—something that makes my chest tighten. He presses his forehead to mine, his breath uneven.

“I want to take my time with you,” he whispers, voice rough with restraint. “Every inch of you.”

My body arches instinctively, seeking more—of him, of this. “Then don’t stop,” I breathe.

His smile returns, slow and wicked. “Wasn’t planning to.” He presses a soft kiss to my forehead before shifting, rising just enough to position himself between my legs. His hands are hot as they trail down my waist, fingers spreading heat in their wake until they reach my inner thighs.

With a firm grip, he parts my legs again, the motion rough, commanding. His eyes flick up to meet mine—dark, intense, and filled with a knowing that sends a fresh wave of heat rushing through me.

His fingers glide over my clit, a jolt of pleasure running through my whole body. I gasp, hips bucking instinctively, but he presses a firm hand against my stomach, holding me in place.

“Easy,” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine. “That feel good?”

His touch is maddeningly slow—circling, teasing, never quite giving me what I’m desperate for. My thighs tremble around him, breath coming in sharp, shallow waves.

“Please,” I whisper, not even sure what I’m begging for—more? mercy? release?

That wicked smile curves his lips again. “There it is,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s been waiting for me to break.

His fingers slowly slide into me, deliberate and unhurried, savoring the way my body responds to his touch. I arch into him, my head falling back against the cushions of the couch, every nerve in my body alight with the torment of anticipation.

"God," I gasp, my hands gripping at the fabric of the couch, desperate for something to tether me. He watches me with that intoxicating mixture of amusement and hunger, like he could devour me whole and still crave more.

"Patience," he murmurs, his voice a low rasp that only fans the flames within me. "I want to feel every inch of you unravel."

The tension coils tighter, unbearable and exquisite. His lips trace the curve of my neck, nipping, soothing, while his fingers move with sinful expertise. My body moves to meet him, chasing the pleasure he doles out in agonizing increments.

"Faster," I plead, the word trembling on my lips. "Please."

"You sound so pretty when you beg," he growls, his mouth capturing mine in a bruising kiss. His tongue sweeps past my parted lips, claiming me, tasting me, while his hands continue their merciless torment.

I can feel it building, that blinding edge just out of reach. Every stroke, every whispered promise, brings me closer to the precipice. My breath quickens, thighs trembling as the tension coils tighter. But just as I teeter on the edge, he pulls away.

A strangled cry escapes me, the sudden loss unbearable. I writhe against him, desperate for the relief he so cruelly denies.

"Not yet," he purrs, pushing his wet fingers past my lips for me to taste myself. I moan around his fingers. "I’m not done playing with you." He warns me.

"Please," I whimper, his fingers hooked on my teeth. But he only smiles, dragging his lips down my neck, savoring the way I squirm beneath him. His fingers return, but slower this time — deliberate, teasing — bringing me right back to the brink.

And then he pulls away again.

"You’re beautiful like this," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. "So desperate. So eager."

"I can’t—" I gasp, every nerve in my body ablaze. "Please. Let me—"

He silences me with another searing kiss, his fingers tangling into my hair, holding me firmly in place. "Not until I say," he growls against my lips, his voice rough and commanding. "I want to see you break for me. Over and over."

I nod, biting down on my bottom lip as anticipation coils tight in my stomach, one of his hands finding its way around my throat. He squeezes—just enough to make my pulse stutter. I close my eyes, savoring the rush of adrenaline and desire.

"Look at me," he whispers. The command is low, deliberate. My eyes snap open, locking onto the coffee swirls of his irises, darkened with need. "You're mine. Got it?" His grip loosens slightly, giving me just enough space to answer.

"Yes," I breathe, the word barely escaping.

His fingers tighten once more, a subtle but undeniable reminder of control. His brows lift expectantly. "Yes, sir." He corrects me.

"Yes, sir," I echo, my voice trembling. Only then does he release his grip, a satisfied smirk curling at the corners of his mouth.

"Good girl." He leans back slightly, his eyes roaming over me, taking in every rise and fall of my chest. The heat in his gaze ignites something deeper within me. I lift my hips, wordlessly begging for more.

But he only watches, those powerful, commanding eyes holding me captive.

"Sam," I gasp, his name a plea on my lips. My hands reach for him, desperate for his touch.

He catches my wrists with ease, pinning them above my head against the soft fabric of the armrest. His hips press into mine, his cock brushing against my opening, sending a jolt through my body.

"You don’t get to decide," he growls, his mouth ghosting over my jaw. "I do." I shiver at his words, a low hum slipping from my lips as I exhale, the tension in my jaw easing beneath the weight of his dominance.

I arch beneath him, my hips seeking the friction I crave, but he pulls back just enough to deny me. The teasing is unbearable, and he knows it.

"Patience," he growls, his teeth grazing my earlobe. "Good sluts wait."

A frustrated whimper escapes me, my body betraying how badly I want him. He chuckles low, the sound vibrating against my skin. His free hand trails down my side, fingertips barely skimming over the sensitive skin of my waist. I writhe beneath his touch, but he refuses to give me what I want.

"You're trembling," he whispers, his fingers tracing lazy circles along my inner thigh. "Are you that desperate for me?"

"Yes," I gasp, the single word escaping before I can stop it.

"Yes, what?" He growls back. I gulp, inhaling sharply at my mistake.

"Yes, sir," I whine with frustration.

He hums in satisfaction, his hand grasping his dick and gently tapping against my clit, teasing without giving me the pressure I crave. I try to press myself against his touch, but he pulls away just enough to keep me on edge.

"Beg for it," he commands, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me how badly you want me."

"Please, Sam," I plead, my voice trembling. "I need you."

He tsks, his lips curving into a wicked grin. "You can do better than that."

My cheeks flush with frustration and desire, the ache inside me growing unbearable. "Please, sir," I try again, the words dripping with need. "I want you. I need to feel you."

"That's my good girl," he praises, rewarding me with the tip of his dick. A sharp gasp escapes my lips, but before I can savor the sensation, he pulls away once more.

He smirks, eyes gleaming with satisfaction as I writhe beneath him. But then, his left hand slips from my wrist, and his fingers trail along my jaw, a silent reminder.

"Shhh," he whispers, his lips brushing against mine. "You wouldn't want anyone to hear, would you?"

The weight of his words settles over me, tightening the knot of anticipation in my stomach. The house is still, the only sound the occasional creak of the couch beneath us. My breathing is ragged, but I bite down on my lip, determined to stay quiet.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his hand trailing back down my body, fingertips tracing over the curve of my breast. "Let’s see how well you can behave."

His cock grazes against my clit once more, the slightest pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I clamp my mouth shut, muffling the gasp that threatens to escape. He watches me closely, his amusement clear.

"That’s it," he whispers, his voice low and dangerous. "Stay quiet for me."

I nod, my cheeks burning with the effort. Every teasing movement drags me closer to the edge, and yet he refuses to give me what I crave. His hand wraps around my throat again, a gentle squeeze that leaves me dizzy with desire.

"You’re so wet," he growls, dragging himself along my slick folds. "And all because of me."

I arch beneath him, my hands gripping the fabric of the couch as I fight to stay silent. But he’s relentless. The tip of his cock nudges against my entrance, threatening to push inside, and I nearly cry out.

"Careful," he warns, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "One sound, and I stop."

The threat sends a pulse of arousal straight through me. My body trembles beneath him, every nerve on edge. He rocks his hips just enough to tease me, but not nearly enough to satisfy. Each shallow thrust is maddening, a torturous game that leaves me dripping and desperate.

"Is this what you wanted?" he taunts, his teeth grazing my neck. "To be used like the slut you are? But you’ll stay quiet, won’t you? Because good girls listen."

I nod frantically, my lips parting in a silent plea. The heat in his gaze only deepens as he watches me squirm beneath him. But then he shifts, pulling back just enough to study my face. I know this is my chance.

"I want you inside me," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Please, Sam."

His eyes flicker, dark and unreadable. I search them desperately, trying to gauge whether he’ll give me what I crave. He holds my gaze for a lingering moment, the tension thick and unrelenting. Then, without a word, he positions himself above me, the head of his cock pressing against my soaking entrance.

"Like this?" he growls, his voice a low rasp.

Before I can respond, he thrusts into me, burying himself deep in one swift motion. A choked cry escapes my lips, the sudden pressure against my g-spot overwhelming. My back arches, my hands clawing at the couch cushions for something — anything — to ground me.

He chuckles darkly, the sound vibrating against my skin. "Oh, baby," he murmurs, his teeth grazing along my jaw. "I told you to be quiet."

His fingers tighten around my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Look at me," he commands, his eyes burning into mine. "And remember — no more sounds. Unless you want me to stop."

The warning sends a delicious shiver down my spine. I nod obediently, lips pressed tightly together. He mirrors me, nodding slowly, his eyes locked on mine.

Then, he thrusts into me again — this time slower, more controlled. Every inch pushes deeper, dragging out the tension in the most excruciating, delicious way. My nails dig into the couch cushions as I fight to stay silent, every muscle in my body tightening with restraint.

He watches me with that same dark intensity, every movement measured and deliberate. The soft, rhythmic creak of the fabric beneath us is the only sound that dares to fill the room.

"You feel that?" he whispers, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth. "How perfectly you take me… how wet you are for me."

I nod, breath trembling, teeth sinking into my bottom lip to keep the moan at bay. He shifts his angle slightly, and the next thrust brushes right against that spot again — the one that makes my vision blur.

My body jolts, hips rising instinctively to meet him, but he catches them in his hands, pinning me down with firm pressure.

"No," he growls, voice low and sharp. "You don’t get to take control. You stay still, you stay silent, and you take what I give you."

My eyes flutter shut for a moment, the control in his voice winding tighter and tighter around me like a cord.

He rolls his hips again, deep and slow, his cock dragging along every sensitive nerve inside me. I nearly sob with the effort it takes not to cry out, the pleasure building, curling hot and fast in my belly.

"That's it," he murmurs, one hand trailing down to my thigh, gripping it possessively. "You're doing so well. My perfect, obedient girl."

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear.

"But I wonder…" he whispers, his voice a dangerous tease, “just how quiet you can stay when I really fuck you.”

And with that, he pulls almost all the way out — then slams back in with a force that steals the air from my lungs. My hands shoot off the couch to his chest, gripping and pushing at the same time, caught between wanting more and needing a second to breathe.

My breath shudders, chest heaving as I fight to stay silent. My eyes squeeze shut, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of him — the way he fills me, stretches me, owns me in every deliberate thrust.

“Ah ah,” he murmurs, grabbing my wrists again and pinning them back above my head, his body pressing mine deeper into the couch. “Eyes open, baby. You don’t get to hide from me.”

I force them open, blinking through the haze, and find his gaze already locked on mine — fierce, possessive, unrelenting.

“There she is,” he whispers, voice low and wrecked. “You feel that? That’s mine. All of it.”

He drives into me again, slower this time but just as deep, dragging out every sensation until my body trembles beneath him.

A sound catches in my throat — a desperate little whimper — and his brows lift. He doesn’t stop. He just leans in, lips brushing mine, his voice a dark warning.

"You're close, aren’t you?" he breathes, rocking his hips in an infuriating rhythm that keeps me teetering on the edge. “But if you make another sound, I’ll stop. Right here.”

The threat coils hot and tight in my core. My body begs for release, every nerve lit and straining. But I nod, jaw clenched, barely hanging on.

And then he smiles — slow, sinful. "Good girl. Let’s see how much more you can take."

He keeps that rhythm — slow, deep, punishing — every stroke calculated to bring me right to the edge, then hold me there, trembling and silent beneath him.

My thighs twitch around his hips, the ache building with no relief. I can feel every inch of him, every maddening drag of his cock inside me, and still, he gives me nothing but the barest friction. The kind that drives me wild.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over mine, teasing but not quite kissing. “You want to come so bad, don’t you?”

I nod frantically, eyes wide, my lips parted in a soundless plea.

"But you won't," he says simply, his voice a wicked promise. “Not yet.”

He pulls out almost entirely again, and I nearly cry out from the loss. But then he slides back in slowly, filling me inch by inch while keeping his eyes locked on mine. I try to stay still, try to obey, but my hips lift off the couch, chasing him.

He pins me down again with one strong hand on my hip, holding me still. "I said," he growls, his voice razor sharp, "you take what I give you."

My breath catches, my whole body buzzing under the weight of his control. My wrists strain in his grip, fingers curling helplessly.

He shifts his angle just slightly — just enough — and suddenly every thrust hits that spot again, the one that makes my vision blur and my toes curl.

My lips tremble, my entire body on fire, and I’m clinging to the last thread of restraint.

“You’re right there,” he whispers, breath hot against my neck. “So close. But not a sound, baby. Not one.”

His pace quickens just enough to push me closer to the edge — coaxing, teasing, denying. I want to scream, to cry out, to beg, but I hold it all in… barely.

Then he shifts, grabbing my ankles and lifting them to rest on his shoulders, folding me deeper into the couch cushions. The new angle is devastating — he hits deeper, harder, and all at once, my eyes roll back, the pleasure stealing any ability to focus.

"I didn't tell you to look away," he growls, breath ragged but voice sharp with authority. Even winded, he doesn't falter. He’s still in control — and he’s not letting up.

He keeps driving into me, deep and unrelenting, the new angle sending shockwaves through my entire body. My legs tremble against his shoulders, the stretch only amplifying the sensation. I'm trying so hard to hold on, but I’m unraveling fast.

Then his hand slides down between us, and before I can even brace myself, his fingers find my clit — slick, swollen, aching for attention. He starts to circle it in time with his thrusts, the rhythm precise and punishing.

"That’s it," he pants, eyes locked on mine, wild and full of heat. "Take it. You’ve been so good for me."

I reach for him blindly, hands gripping his hips, trying to anchor myself as his thrusts hit deeper, harder, pushing me closer to the edge with every breath. The muscles in my thighs tighten, my whole body straining beneath him.

"You're gonna come for me now," he growls, rubbing tighter, faster, never losing pace. "I can feel it — you’re right there. Don’t hold back."

I moan — loud, broken, completely helpless against the pleasure crashing through me.

In a flash, his hand snaps up to cover my mouth, muffling the sound as I cum hard around him. My body convulses, back arching off the cushions, the orgasm ripping through me so fast it leaves me trembling, gasping against his palm.

"Fuck," he breathes, eyes dark and locked on mine. "You couldn't stay quiet, could you?"

But the corner of his mouth curls into a wicked grin as he keeps thrusting, drawing every last pulse of pleasure from me, his hand still firmly over my mouth.

"And now I'm not stopping."

He doesn't ease up. If anything, the way my body clenches around him only spurs him on. His thrusts stay steady, deliberate, grinding into that perfect spot over and over again, even as I twitch beneath him, still riding the aftershocks.

His hand stays clamped over my mouth, muffling the broken, desperate sounds I can’t control anymore. My eyes meet his — wild, glassy, overwhelmed — and he just smirks, cocky and relentless.

"You feel that?" he growls, hips slamming into me with sharp, controlled rhythm. "Still so fucking tight. Still dripping for me."

I nod against his hand, eyes pleading, body hypersensitive and trembling with every movement. My hands are still on his hips, fingers digging in like I’m holding on for dear life. And maybe I am.

He leans down, breath hot against my ear. "You think I’m done with you?" he murmurs. "No, baby. You moaned for me. Loud. So now I get to remind you why you should’ve stayed quiet."

A whimper escapes against his palm, and his eyes flash with something darker — hungrier.

He withdraws just enough to make me feel the loss — then thrusts back in hard, forcing another muffled cry from deep in my throat. The sound is swallowed by his hand, the couch beneath me creaking with every sharp movement.

"I’m not stopping until I feel you come around me again," he growls, voice rough with restraint. "And this time, you're gonna keep those pretty sounds right here—" he presses his hand tighter over my mouth, "—where they belong."

His rhythm builds again — faster now, harder, merciless. The fabric of the couch groans beneath us with every thrust, but all I can hear is the wild thrum of my heartbeat in my ears and the ragged sound of his breath against my cheek.

His hand stays firmly over my mouth, forcing me to hold back every cry, every broken moan trying to claw its way out of my throat. My legs are trembling, muscles pulled tight around him, thighs straining where they rest over his shoulders. He’s so deep it feels like I’m going to split open, but the edge... the edge is back.

Only this time, it’s sharper. Unrelenting.

His fingers slide back to my clit, slick from the last time he sent me over, and now he rubs fast, tight circles, synced with every savage roll of his hips. He watches me — eyes locked on mine, pupils blown, dark and commanding — and I know he can feel how close I am. My walls flutter around him involuntarily, clenching tight, and he groans deep in his chest.

“That’s it,” he growls, low and guttural. “You’re right there again, aren’t you? About to fall apart all over my cock.”

I nod frantically against his hand, tears welling in the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity, the way it all coils and burns and crackles inside me. The pressure in my core twists tight like a pulled wire — too much, too sharp, too good. My nails dig into his hips again, trying to ground myself, but I can’t stop it. I don’t want to.

And then — I break.

The orgasm crashes through me like a tidal wave, harder than the first. My back arches violently off the couch, legs shaking uncontrollably, my whole body locked up and pulsing around him. The heat tears through my stomach, spreading out in sparks under my skin, raw and wild. A cry rips from my throat, but it’s muffled against his hand, my body wrung out and trembling beneath him.

He groans low and rough, feeling me tighten around him, soaking and clenching like I’m trying to pull him deeper, keep him there. But then, suddenly, he stills.

With one final thrust, he pulls out — slow, deliberate — and the emptiness leaves me gasping. I barely have time to react before he’s grabbing himself in one hand, stroking his cock with a sense of urgency, the head flushed and slick from how hard he’s been holding back.

"Open your mouth," he commands, voice gravel-thick and breathless.

I blink up at him, dazed and still reeling, but obey instantly — parting my lips as I lean up from the cushions, tongue just barely sticking out in invitation. His free hand moves to cradle the back of my head, guiding me just where he wants me.

"Keep your eyes on me," he says, his voice sharp but shaking as he strokes faster, the tension radiating off him. "You’ve been so good. Take this for me."

His eyes never leave mine, even as his jaw tightens and his hips jerk forward. It only takes a few more strokes before his breath catches, body going rigid.

"Fuck—" he groans, low and drawn out.

Hot spurts of cum hit my tongue, my lips, his breath ragged as he spills into my mouth. I moan softly as I take it, tasting him, the weight of his release and his control still lingering in the space between us.

When he finally exhales, his hand relaxes at the back of my head, thumb brushing over my jaw in slow, lazy circles. “Swallow it,” he murmurs, eyes dark and hooded.

I do — never breaking eye contact.

A flicker of a smirk curls on his lips as he leans in, kissing me softly — slower, now — with a kind of pride laced into every breath.

“Good girl,” he whispers, voice low and spent.

He’s still above me, chest rising and falling, eyes searching mine. Not just for a response, but for something deeper.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, brushing my hair back from my damp forehead, his voice almost hesitant.

I nod, still catching my breath. “Yeah. You?”

He exhales a little, like he’d been holding something in. “Yeah. Just… didn’t expect that to happen tonight.”

A shaky laugh escapes me. “Same.”

He smiles — real and a little sheepish — then leans in to press a gentle kiss to my temple. The shift in him is subtle, but I feel it. The dominant edge is still there, but now there’s warmth in the way he touches me, like he's suddenly hyperaware that this was our first time. That it mattered.

“Did I go too far?” he asks, quieter this time, his thumb brushing over the curve of my cheek.

“No,” I say, without hesitation. “You were amazing. I mean… it was intense. But I wanted it that way.”

He nods slowly, his gaze dropping to my lips before trailing back up to my eyes. “Good. Because I did too.”

He finally eases off of me, standing to grab his shirt from the floor and gently using it to wipe between my thighs, his movements careful, like he’s trying to ease me back into my body. The fabric is soft, warm from the heat of us, and even that small gesture makes my heart squeeze.

When he’s done, he tucks the blanket from the back of the couch around me, then drops down beside me, pulling me into his chest like we’ve done this a hundred times.

The silence returns, but it’s heavier now — not awkward, just thick with everything we’ve just shared.

“I can’t believe we just did that at a party,” I murmur against his chest.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss into my hair. “I’m pretty sure half the house has crashed by now. But yeah… kinda makes it hotter, doesn’t it?”

I smile, nodding, even as my eyes flutter shut. The buzz of the alcohol is gone now, replaced by the hum of his fingers tracing lazy circles on my back.

“You think anyone heard us?” I ask after a beat.

“Probably,” he replies with a smirk in his voice. “But they didn’t get this.”

He pulls me tighter against him, his hand finding mine beneath the blanket and threading our fingers together.

“I’ve wanted this for a long time,” he says softly. “Not just the sex. You.”

That breaks something open in me — in the best way.